“If I could write a prescription for lifestyle changes,” my doctor told us on the day of my diagnosis, “I would say no Costco, or any big box stores for the next two years, and only twenty minutes tops for groceries.”
If you are a Costco addict like me, you can feel the pain. Of course, I defied her, that’s the kind of gal I am.
“They do have ride on carts,” I told my husband. He complied. The doctor was right; I cried all the way home. It isn’t just the size of the store, it is the quantity of merchandise, the noise, the crowds, and the need to be always on guard for people around you. I was rattled to the core.
Doesn’t mean I don’t still long to shop at Costco. Just means we have adapted. Now we shop together using text messages:
Me: I don’t eat enough bread to make it worthwhile, but thanks.
Him: Perrier or almond milk?
Me: I’m okay for almond milk. Perrier, I have two bottles.
Me: No thanks, Honey, had them before and didn’t eat them. (I don’t tell him we still have three boxes of cookies he’s bought from other stores – he means well.)
Him: Tuna? Rice or pasta?
Him: Stuffed peppers?
Me: Ha ha. (It’s an inside joke – we have lots of them concerning impulse buys at Costco.)
When I suggest that I wouldn’t mind seeing if they have anything interesting in the clothes section, he mysteriously disappears. He comes back a few minutes later with:
Him: Wine Gums?
Here’s the thing about shopping this way. It puts me in a quandary. He knows damn well that I want wine gums, and he also knows that we are trying to eat healthy and avoid junk food. If I say yes, or whatever you want, it becomes my fault if he buys them. If I say no, and he doesn’t buy them, well now that he’s put them in my mind, I might be disappointed. What I really want is for him to take responsibility and make a decision! (And I want the wine gums.)
Shopping the 2016 way is very complicated.